


On Such a Full Sea Are We Now Afloat

by fiorediloto



Series: Of Ships and Birds [2]
Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boats and Ships, First Meetings, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:34:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25953826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiorediloto/pseuds/fiorediloto
Summary: As a rule, Dick pretended that that part of his life had never happened. That he hadn't busted his ass off for four years, working at day and studying at night, just to end up rescuing shipwrecks at the far end of the world. The perfect day was a day when he didn't think about it once, when he just existed, baggage-free, blended seamlessly with the environment.Just one more working class man who'd taken to the sea.ORThe one where they became sailors instead, and things didn't go quite as planned.
Relationships: Lewis Nixon/Richard Winters
Series: Of Ships and Birds [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1883704
Comments: 24
Kudos: 54





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is both a prequel and a sequel to [Sink Like a Bird](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24221494). Thanks to [Muccamukk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muccamukk/) for beta-reading!
> 
>   
> In my defense, I really, really just wanted to write 2k of summer porn.

_Nixxon Oil Headquarters_

_Personal attention of Mr. Lewis Nixon III_

_Nixon, NJ_

_Lewis,_

_I have been giving a great deal of thought to the things we discussed in our last meeting. I will admit that my first instinct was to ignore your proposition, forget the whole story, and carry on as before. I will also admit that for some time I wasn’t in the best disposition to appreciate the points you’d made. Perhaps you don’t know this about me, but I can be as stubborn as a mule. It was weeks before I allowed myself to even consider a different point of view. That is why in the end it took me so long to make up my mind._

_I would very much like for us to meet and go over the whole affair again in person — that is, if there’s still some interest left on your side. If there is, I’d love to hear from you and discuss how that can be arranged. If your schedule does not allow for a stop in FL any time soon, please know that I plan on spending Christmas back home. From there, NJ is but a short train ride._

_Please let me know. I sincerely hope you do. If you don’t, I’ll assume that you have lost interest, and I will leave it at that._

_Your friend,_

_Dick_

  
  
  


**1.**

_Now_

Dick spots him from a block away, and his heart jumps up to his throat. 

He chose his table strategically, picking a corner from which he could command the intersection and a full two blocks down both streets, and he’s been on the lookout ever since. As time passed, his confidence turned into hopefulness, his hope into doubt, doubt into several rounds of bargaining with himself. One hour later, he almost gave up, almost paid his tab and went home to lick his wounds. How stupid does that all seem now, now that _he_ has arrived.

Dick blinks, unsure for a moment of what he’s looking at through the tremulous midday air—but yes, without a shred of doubt, there he is: a minor vision in a white linen shirt and tan trousers.

He’s strolling down the sidewalk like he owns the place, which is entirely like him, and in fact the very thing that gave him away from afar. Dick realizes that he’d been scanning all male passers-by for a black beard, but the beard is gone. Under the aviator sunglasses there’s nothing but a square jaw and the familiar pouting mouth; above them, the rim of a shiny white panama hat.

This isn’t the man the _Warbler_ picked up from a life raft in the middle of the Atlantic, face dirty with soot and clothes smelling like gasoline fire. This is the man who picked up Dick in that very same bar months before, slicked up and charming and ready to paint the town red. For a moment Dick gets déjà-vu so strongly it’s almost dizzying. When it passes, Nix is walking through the doors, and Dick is standing, body moving of its own accord.

Dick isn’t what people would call a man of strong passions. He lives an ordinary life with controlled peaks of adventure, and he likes having a grip on his emotions at all times. He’s not reckless, and many would judge his wildest moments rather tame, domestic even. Still, right now he’s on the verge of doing something very stupid, and he can feel it in every fiber of his being: every muscle, every nerve, every pore clenching in a desperate attempt to resist the same aching _need_. Nix takes off his sunglasses, blinks the sunlight away, and Dick stabs his fingernails into his palms until they hurt.

He grabs the thin stack of folded bills from his trousers pocket, counts a couple hastily, and throws them on the table.

Nix’s seen him. From across the room, he opens his arms in what looks like confusion, or like a mute invitation to come over and give him a hug. Dick doesn’t let it deter him. Now that he’s in motion, he’s like a train launched at high speed, and with train-like determination he walks over to where Nix is standing, grabs him by the arm, and drags him unceremoniously out of the bar.

It’s possible that the other customers, those who turned to check out the newcomer, find that silent scene a little peculiar. Perhaps they think it’s a fight Dick is taking elsewhere; his grip on Nix’s arm is too strong, too intense. Perhaps they think this meetup wasn’t planned; perhaps the new guy has come to ask for money. Whatever they are thinking, Dick is sure that they couldn’t be further from the truth, and he savors his secret as he drags a pliant Nix down Duval Street, right to the first crossroad, and then to the tiniest little alley sandwiched between two crumbling houses.

Straight under the perpendicular sun, the old brick walls radiate heat like coal-burning stoves. Dick’s perspiring, though not all of it can be chalked up to the temperature. Sure enough, there’s a bead of sweat on Nix’s temple too.

The alley smells like piss and trash. Nix, God help, smells like cologne and scotch.

Nix is starting to look worried. The Ray-Bans hang loosely from his knuckles as he takes them off to wipe the sweat off the bridge of his nose, seemingly as awkward with the whole thing now as he looked in front of the customers of _Sloppy Joe’s_.

“You’re mad. I’m sorry. The ferry took forever to—”

“I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?” Nix relaxes; already a confused smile is tugging at his lips. “All right. Good. Then—”

Dick kisses him. It feels like a drink of cold water after a whole morning above deck; it feels wild and wonderful and indulgent and like more than he deserves. Out of instinct he lurches forward, his body weight pressing Nix against the wall, and there’s a chance that that sparkling white shirt will be stained, ruined, an innocent casualty of the assault, but that’s neither here nor there. Peripherally, he’s aware that he’s rock hard, that what he’s doing is more grinding than pressing, and that maybe, just maybe, that soft throaty moan he can hear is coming from his lips. He doesn’t care. Nix’s fingers are in his hair, all of them, and if no one stops him, in a moment Dick is going to drop to his knees and suck the man off right there on the public road.

“Easy—Easy,” Nix pants wetly against Dick’s mouth, first chance he gets to put a word in edgewise. His voice is uneven, broken by quick breaths and the beginning of a chuckle. “Jesus, okay. I get it. I’ve missed you too.”

“Sorry. I just—” Dick can’t finish the sentence. A lump is forming in his throat, and it’s tight and impossible to swallow away. “I have. I really have.”

Nix smiles and cups both sides of Dick’s face in his hands, a flash of blinding tenderness alight in his eyes. His kiss is gentler, more thoughtful, though no less charged than Dick’s frontal assault. Instead of a battering ram it’s a prolonged siege, and by the end of it, Dick’s happy that their bodies are still flush together against the wall, because he doesn’t trust his legs.

He hesitates, unsure of what his body needs more urgently: to move to the shade, or to continue what they’re doing. The heat is almost unbearable, but he’s relentlessly dreamed of this moment for the past months. Whatever he decides, though, he’s got a feeling that Nix will follow his lead. The thought is exhilarating.

“Let’s go to my place,” he says.

They’re no sooner through the door than Dick’s hands are on Nix’s belt, pulling and bending and loosening the leather strap. Released, the buckle clinks as it drops to the side.

Enough sunlight seeps in through the louvered shutters that they can see clearly, but the place remains dimly lit, and most importantly, a good ten degrees cooler than outside. Dick dips his head in Nix’s neck, kissing his way through a salty, tanned strip of skin. It burns at the touch, hot like a freshly charged battery.

It’s a small place, just a room and a kitchenette, and so guiding Nix towards the bed is no big feat, even if Dick’s hands are busy with the man’s trousers, even if the man is walking backwards, blindly trusting him to steer. Out of a belated sense of modesty, Dick kicks the bedroom door shut behind him, which triggers, who knows why, a fond smile from Nix.

“Well, this is an improvement,” Nix observes, looking around. Whether he means that it’s better than out in the street or better than Dick’s previous lodgings, Dick doesn’t know. His ears are muffled by the blood raging in his temples, and the words reach him as if through water.

He kneels down and pulls Nix’s cock out of his briefs. A part of him wonders when’s the last time a man has done this for Nix, but the thought is distracting, so he pushes it aside.

“God,” Nix swears softly at the first touch of Dick’s lips. “Jesus Christ,” he swears again when Dick lowers his head and swallows him, nurturing his cock into a full hard-on inside his mouth. Nix’s hand paws Dick’s shoulder and climbs up the side of his neck, rests his fingers on the sweaty short hair at the back and the thumb at the hinge of his jaw. Dick likes that. He’s not Nix’s first man, not by a long shot, but when they do it, there’s a way Nix has of following Dick’s every move like he’s nothing short of a miracle, which is incredibly flattering. Surely a man who looks like that could score a blowjob anywhere, but here he is, fifteen hundred miles from home, looking at Dick like he can’t quite believe his luck.

“Yes. Like that. God,” Nix groans. His hand is on the side of Dick’s face now, his thumb is skirting the corner of Dick’s lips. Dick pulls his head back, letting the cock out of his mouth, and opens his lips to lick and suck on Nix’s thumb before turning his attention back to the prize.

Nix looks like the little diversion, far from distracting him, has pushed him even closer to the edge. Under the five fingers firmly wrapped around Nix’s hip, Dick can feel muscles flex and relax, a current of fleshy waves following the undertows of pleasure commanded by Dick’s mouth. He won’t last long; he’s not even trying to resist. He’s not the kind of man who likes to delay pleasure.

Nix chants a litany of swearwords and soft urgings under his breath, voice coming out in broken puffs. When he gets close, his voice takes on a strangled edge. Dick breathes through his nose, relaxes his throat, and finishes him.

It’s only heavy breathing and inarticulate noises for a while. Dick swallows and waits, his thumb stroking Nix’s hip in soothing circles. Presently the heat of his mouth is too much for Nix, and Dick pulls back and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. Nix has got his English back: mellowed down, almost languid as it pours loving endearments over Dick’s head, some of which Dick knows he’ll never hear in any other circumstance.

“Come here,” Nix urges, helping him on his feet. His face is splotched with red, the bridge of his nose alight like when he drinks too much. Dick’s not sure if Nix finds the taste erotic or what, but the kiss, far from being a dutiful thank-you note, is a concert of fireworks. Dick’s head tilts and spins around it, but his ground is solid: Nix’s arms are wrapped firmly around his back, holding him in place.

“Want to fuck?” Nix asks, and Dick’s nod must have looked eager, because Nix chuckles heartily in response.

“Yeah? Yeah, let’s. God, I haven’t been fucked in so long,” Nix sighs, with sentiment.

Now that’s a sweet thought.

“I’ll be careful,” Dick promises. They’re at the edge of the bed now, and a tip of his chin is all it takes for Nix to take the hint. He sits down, then slouches on his elbows, legs extended over the side of the bed, feet touching the floor.

Nix chuckles. “I don’t mean it like that.”

“How do you mean it, then?” Dick bends his knee to take off Nix’s shoes.

“I just—” Nix looks like what he hadn’t meant, at least, was to have a conversation about it. “Well. I’ve thought about it.” He chuckles awkwardly, dropping his head back to stare at the scraped ceiling. “ _A_ _lot_.”

“Right, so I won’t be too careful,” Dick teases. “Listen, you going to help at all, or are you just here for the view?” He tugs at the sleeve of Nix’s trousers.

“That’s enough cheek from you, boy,” Nix admonishes, but he bends a leg up on the bed to lift his pelvis and push everything down to his knees. Dick collects the bunched up trousers and boxers and pulls them off swiftly.

“Boy? I’m older than you.”

“Yeah, and I was already doing this while you picked the neighbor’s peaches for pocket money.”

Dick smiles warmly. He’s surprised that Nix even remembers the story; he didn’t think that he was listening.

“Although,” Nix continues in a softer voice, “I do like the view.”

Something twists inside Dick’s chest, like his heart gave out a little gasp, a sharp momentary pain followed by a flood of warmth. He puts his hands on Nix’s knees and rolls forward and upward on the balls of his feet, hovering, pushing a knee deep in the mattress between Nix’s spread legs. Nix rises to meet him halfway, and for a moment they dangle like a pendulum in the kiss, pulling at each other for balance.

Nix’s hand snakes between their bodies, paws, grabs, unbuttons, pulls down, and when it finally touches his flesh, Dick sighs with heartfelt relief.

“Been a while, has it?” Nix murmurs, eyes searching Dick’s face for the reactions to his touch, the unique constellation of tiny signals that’ll tell him how Dick likes it. 

If he were more in control, he wouldn’t say what he’s now going to say the way he’s going to say it. Never like this; never like he expects that it’ll create some kind of obligation. Really, at the end of the day it was about convenience more than romance, ‘cause he’s nothing but a practical man, and in his life Nix was the one glaring deviation in style. But the words just escape him in a rush, raising a tall cloud of metaphorical dust, and there’s no closing the stables afterwards.

“Not since we last met.”

Something complicated crosses Nix’s face. His fingers are still moving on Dick, mechanically, but his mind is somewhere else, somewhere far. Dick doesn’t like how far.

He bites his tongue, opens his mouth to recite what he told himself every other night for weeks and weeks, that this wasn’t about Nix, that he was not _waiting_ , for Pete’s sake, that he was not _saving himself—_

“Sometimes, when I’m in the mood. I fuck myself thinking it’s you.”

Dick closes his mouth and swallows ineffectively. He had forgotten how sometimes Nix makes him feel like there are no wrong answers. How they fit together in a way that’s nothing short of miraculous, and when that happens, Dick can say whatever and Nix will just take it in stride, catch the ball and throw it back.

He strokes Nix’s side. “I’d like to see that,” he confesses.

“Another time,” Nix promises, and it’s as if some invisible tension had just left his body. The hand wrapped around Dick’s cock shifts purposefully, the thumb rises to tease the slit. Nix leans back on one elbow, the open V of his shirt stretched from shoulder to shoulder, leaving an empty space through which Dick can see his dark-haired chest. Dick wonders what it tastes like, realizes he’s never tried it, and he can’t resist flicking a few buttons open and dipping his head down for a taste. Following the forward motion Nix’s hand readjusts around his cock, three fingers run down the shaft and grip his balls gently, stroking them in the way that he knows makes Dick tremble and sigh. It’s just too perfect, too much like Dick likes doing it himself, and Nix looks as handsome as he looks smug and Dick shivers and thinks with terrifying clarity, _I want to do this every day of my life_.

“There’s something in the drawer.” Dick points at the worm-holed nightstand. Nix opens it, grabs the tin of Vaseline, then rummages further and fishes out a box of condoms, which he presents to Dick with a questioning face.

“It’s easier. Less messy,” Dick explains with a shrug, wondering if Nix has an aversion to condoms, or what exactly the confusion’s about.

Nix’s still looking at the condoms with some kind of amused wonder; now he seems to be counting them. “You know I’ve got to sit for two days in a car once you’re done ravishing me, right?”

Dick’s not really into discussing what happens after; as it is, he’s barely into discussing what happens now. “I’m fine either way.”

Nix smiles and closes the drawer. Stretched and draped over the bed like that, he rather looks like a lazy cat. “I like it messy.”

What Nix likes, Dick thinks some minutes later, is the feeling of skin sliding freely on skin, the slicked weight of Dick’s cock opening him up, patient but unrelenting. Propped up on his elbows and knees, Nix flattens his back and lets out a soft groan as Dick breaches him, but it doesn’t sound like pain nor pleasure—more like _recognition_. 

“Little more?”

“Yes. Please,” Nix pants, head tight between his arms. His hands are joined on the mattress as if in prayer. Dick presses on carefully, his hands firmly on Nix’s hips, his upper lip awash with perspiration. The rhythm is not a rhythm yet, more like a slow but steady forward march.

When the front of his thighs touches Nix’s cheeks, Dick feels nothing but sweat and slick and the incredible heat of Nix’s ass, tight around his cock. It pulsates as Nix clenches his muscles experimentally, and Dick gives him a moment to get used to it. He takes a breath and drags a hand up Nix’s sweaty back, hooking it around his shoulder. In response, Nix tilts his head to the side and brushes his shaven cheek against Dick’s knuckles.

“Feel good?”

“Yeah. Come on.”

Dick keeps his hand on Nix’s shoulder to counter the motion and pulls back to get a little range. The first couple pushes he keeps slow and tentative, but Nix’s body is pliant in his hands, tender and welcoming like an old friend. As Dick gives in to a steadier rhythm, his eyes follow the suntan lines on Nix’s back, the round one hugging the back of his neck and the two brackets marking his shoulder blades; an old-time swimsuit, he figures, or maybe a fatigue top. He struggles to imagine Nix toiling above deck, while he has no trouble picturing him on a sandy beach, cocktail in hand as the sun imprints a dark halo on every inch of exposed skin and spares the rest. Inspired, he runs an arm around Nix’s midsection and bends to kiss his back. The movement brings his hand into collision with Nix’s own that has reached between his legs and is now lazily pulling at his cock.

He’d like to do that for Nix, but the angle is awkward, and besides, Dick really, really needs to get off. So he saves it for another time and leaves him to it, straightens his back and places both hands on Nix’s hips, holding him firmly in place as he slides home with one deep thrust. The angle must be right, now; Nix oscillates forward, absorbing the momentum, widens his stance and hums a pleased sound in his throat, once, twice, a third time when Dick hits the mark again, and again louder but muffled, his face pressed on the bed. From there on it’s words again, raw and sweet and harsh and pleading: they take Dick all the way up and they coddle his ears as he groans and tumbles down, relief coursing through and out of him in spasms as he fucks Nix through it, after it, just a little longer, and while Nix’s hand frantically slaps at his own flesh and he’s close, so close, so damn close, Dick’s ears ring over and over with syrupy mumblings, swearing, prayers, Dick’s name, the color of Dick’s hair, sweetheart, like this, yeah, fuck me, please, Red, Red, the things you do to me.

  
  
  


_Then_

“Excuse me. Is this seat taken?”

The stranger, a dark-haired fellow with a clean-shaven face and a charming smile, leaned in slightly, hovering in Dick’s personal space like he already owned some of it.

It was a quiet night at _Sloppy Joe’s_ ; plenty of empty seats in the oversized bar, and surely no need to squeeze next to a stranger at the counter. Yet some of the usual types—the passers-by, the sailors on leave, the bored Customs clerks—couldn’t bear to be lonely on a Thursday; they were attracted to their fellow bar dwellers like moths to a flame, and they often liked to strike up a conversation.

Normally Dick didn’t like the type and wouldn’t have welcomed the intrusion, but on a wretched evening like this, the company of this handsome man didn’t seem like the worst thing.

“It’s not. Please.”

“Thanks.”

The man ordered himself a scotch by name, then cast a look at Dick’s empty glass while Big, the bartender, reached for a black-tagged bottle on the shelf.

“G&T?"

“I’m sorry?”

“Your drink. Was it a gin and tonic?”

“Ah, yes. It is.”

“Can I buy you another one?”

Just like that, no beating around the bush. Dick hesitated. He’d never been the bar type; until that night, his frequentation of bars and clubs had been limited to the rare night out with a college friend and the even rarer weekend pass with his mates at the Academy. And none of that was of help now, of course.

“It’s all right,” the stranger said, noticing his hesitation. He still sounded perfectly friendly, unfazed by the assumed rejection. “Some nights you wanna drink alone.”

He grabbed his freshly served glass and made to stand, intending to take his company elsewhere, perhaps seeking a more talkative buddy. Something snapped in Dick’s chest, call it a desire, an urgency, raw and sudden and just too strong to resist.

“I don’t,” he said, stopping the man on his tracks. “And I’d like another one.”

The man smiled, reassured, and sat back on his stool. He snapped his fingers at the bartender, who’d meanwhile moved to the other end of the oversized counter.

“Another G&T for my friend here, please.”

Dick looked down at his glass, toyed idly with the lime slice. “How did you know?”

“What?”

“What I was drinking.”

The man smiled. “You’re not big on cocktails, are you?” He tipped his chin at Dick’s highball glass with the half lime slice perched on the rim. “That’s a G&T glass. Might’ve been a Tom Collins if I thought they didn’t know their stuff,” he caught a dirty look from the bartender, “which they clearly do,” he added tamely. He leaned into Dick’s space, slowly enough that Dick could move away if he wanted, but he remained still. “I can smell the gin,” he murmured close to Dick’s ear.

Dick didn’t know what the man could smell, though he doubted that it was the gin in his breath. Dick’s nose, on the other hand, was filled instantly with a herbal scent of aftershave and a faint hint of musk. The man’s breath was light and warm on the side of his neck.

The stranger leaned back, his bar stool creaking softly under his shifting weight. “What’s your name, Red?”

Dick knew that he should have been irritated by the nickname and its presumed familiarity, but he actually felt warm. Far from home, and he hadn’t had a friend in so long, it was almost pathetic how good it felt to be called by anything but his last name. He opened his mouth and almost blurted it out right away, then caught himself in time.

“W—Richard. Dick.” He accepted the new glass, thanking the bartender. “Yours?”

“I think I like ‘Nix’.”

Dick looked him straight in the eye. He was starting to feel a happy buzz in his head, alcohol and adrenaline mixing well together. He liked the way the man was looking at him. “No names? Okay.”

“Well, that’s my name. Nixon. Lewis Nixon. I answer to ‘Lew’ on a good day.”

‘Nix’ lifted the glass for a silent toast and they clinked on it. Dick took a careful sip of his G&T Nix filled his mouth with a gulp of scotch and swallowed it eagerly, like it was a lifesaving medicine.

“So,” Nix said, “Dick. What do you do in this fine city?”

“I’m with the Navy Salvage Service.” 

Nix nodded in recognition. “Best service you hope you’ll never need. You know Joe Barbetti?”

“I’m with his crew.”

“Really? And how does he treat you?”

“He’s a good man,” Dick answered honestly.

“He is.” Nix’s eyes skimmed over Dick’s face and neck and hands and Dick knew what the other man was seeing: skin that wouldn’t tan, splotched with a sea of freckles, sunburnt over and over. “Should’ve figured you’re not a desk job.”

“I couldn’t stay put that long,” Dick smiled.

“You know, I had a feeling,” Nix smiled back. “You’re the sporty type. What was it? High school football? Baseball?”

“Football, basketball. Wrestling. But that was later, in college.”

“A college boy,” Nix murmured appreciatively. “Now that’s a surprise.”

Dick nodded, embarrassed. As a rule, he pretended that that part of his life had never happened. That he hadn’t busted his ass off for four years, working at day and studying at night, just to end up rescuing shipwrecks at the far end of the world. The perfect day was a day when he didn’t think about it once, when he just existed, baggage-free, blended seamlessly with the environment. Just one more working class man who’d taken to the sea.

“Yale,” Nix said abruptly. “Two years.”

“Really?” Dick must’ve sounded too surprised, because Nix frowned at his reaction. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened. I got bored,” Nix said, a little sharply. Dick thought that that was it, that Nix would say no more, but the man sniffed and added more gently: “I’m not too good at staying put either.”

“I’d say,” Dick said mildly. “You’re a long way away from home.”

“You don’t jump on a ship if you want to stay in one place.” Nix looked at him straight, his gaze firm but not unkind. “Maybe you know a thing or two about that?”

In the silence that followed, Nix fidgeted with his glass for a while, then cleared his throat and reached for the front pocket of his shirt, where a square-shaped bulge and a green logo denounced a pack of Lucky Strikes.

“Thanks, I don’t,” Dick waved away the offer.

“Does it bother you?”

“Not at all.”

Nix’s lips pursed around the cigarette, dragging up a first puff of smoke. Even his mouth was handsome; the way his bottom lip stayed plump even when stretched in a smile or curled around the cigarette. Dick surprised himself wondering what it would feel like around his cock, and immediately quashed the thought before it could hijack all of his attention. This wasn’t new; he was used to wanting men. But the alcohol was making it harder to stay focused, a feeling—he found—he didn’t hate as much as he thought he would.

“Your ship,” Dick said, trying to restart the conversation. “Is it docked in town?”

“Yeah. We came to unload, stayed for repairs.”

“Bad?”

Nix smirked, sensing the real question. Dick didn’t care about Nix’s ship; he just wanted to know how long Nix would stick around. For a moment Dick felt completely naked in front of his man, this stranger who could read all his secret desires. 

“A few days. One of the tanks is leaky; has been for weeks. We patched it up best we could, but no way I was gonna keep it like that all the way to Jersey.”

“Is that the tanker that came in yesterday?”

“The same. Name’s _Regatta_.”

“Funny name for an oil tanker.”

“I know, right? The owner’s got a weird sense of humor.”

“I can see that. What do you do there?”

Strangely enough, Nix dropped his eyes at the question—stranger still, given the answer he gave then. “I happen to be the master.”

“Well, that’s something,” Dick said, genuinely impressed. 

“Is it?” Nix asked.

“Sure. I mean, you’re young.”

“That’s,” Nix shrugged, “’cause I’m friends with the owner.”

“Still,” Dick insisted, “he must trust you an awful lot if he gave you a ship to command.”

“He—” Nix opened his hands, searching for the right words. “He thinks I’m a no-good knucklehead who threw away more chances than normal folk get in a lifetime. But we get along. We drink together most nights.”

“What, on board?”

“Sure. Wherever.”

“The owner travels with you?” Dick asked, confused.

“Wherever I go. It’s a curse.” Nix winked.

“I don’t think I—”

Nix cleared his throat. “There’s an oil company in Nixon, New Jersey. It’s called Nixxon Oil. Ever heard of it?”

Dick stilled as the realization dawned on him, then shook his head and chuckled under his breath. “You do have a weird sense of humor.”

“Right? Told you.” Nix tilted his head, then let a softer smile than Dick had seen so far stretch his lips. “Your laugh. It’s nice. I like it.”

“Yeah?” Dick breathed.

“Yeah.” Nix took a sip, licked his lips. “The rest, too.”

He let that sink in. Dick looked at his glass and drank a little, head abuzz like a wasp nest. He’d come into the bar with the purpose of getting drunk and forgetting, but now he could admit to himself that that had changed when Nix had showed up. Now he wanted to stay sober, see where this led, and remember it later. He wanted to hear more things like the one Nix had just said, and he wanted to say some, too.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” he stated calmly, and was rewarded for it with an even softer smile.

“Look,” Nix pointed at the doors with a thumb, “what do you say if we take our drinks outside? We can sit out back. It’s hot as hell in here.”

It wasn’t. With the cross draft from the opposite windows it was probably cooler than out in the street, where the pavement was still regurgitating a day’s worth of heat.

“Sure,” Dick answered, his heart leaping at the suggestion.

“All right. Let me get a refill first.” Nix stuck the cigarette in his mouth, flagged the bartender to refill his glass, then left the bill and a generous tip on the counter before they took off.

They resettled in the back street, far from the noise and the traffic of the intersection. It was dirty, certainly not pretty, but it was marginally more private and—Dick couldn’t help but notice—comfortably far from the closest lamppost.

“Nice and cozy,” Nix pronounced it, sitting down next to him. Their shoulders touched; Dick felt Nix’s warmth radiate through the clothes. Nix bumped gently into him, tipping his chin at the half full glass in Dick’s hands.

“You’re not the gin type, huh.”

Dick took a half-hearted sip. “I’m not the drinking type,” he confessed once the light burn of the alcohol had subsided.

“Really.” The man lifted both his eyebrows in surprise. “Could have fooled me.”

Dick cast him a look. “You’re pulling my leg again.”

“I am,” Nix smiled. “Sorry. You’ve been nursing that drink for a long time. Do you like it at all?”

“It’s all right.”

Nix rolled his eyes. “Dick, come on.”

“It is. I like it just fine.”

“Is it—what, like a religious thing?”

“No. It’s not like I _can’t_ ,” Dick clarified, feeling like that was an odd thing to say. “I just don’t have a taste for it.”

“And yet here you are,” Nix replied. He cast Dick an assessing glance, studying his face for a moment as if he could find the answer printed on it, and then not finding it, he added: “It doesn’t look like a celebration.”

“No,” Dick answered, with a bitter chuckle. “Nothing to celebrate.”

“Mm.” Nix traced the rim of his glass with a finger. “Wanna talk about it?”

Dick wasn’t much more in the business of unburdening his soul than he was in that of drinking, but if he looked at his chances he figured, better with a kind stranger willing to lend him an ear than with someone he’d have to look in the eye tomorrow. And who knew, maybe Nix would understand, or pretend to. At this point in Dick’s life, either option would suit him fine.

“My class graduated today. It was in the papers.”

“Yeah? What class?”

“Midshipman. Annapolis.”

“You joined up?"

“I did.”

“And you went on for a commission.”

“Yeah.” Dick’s throat felt tight, which embarrassed him deeply. He waited for the lump to loosen before he spoke again. “Didn’t stick.”

Nix nodded somberly, his voice turning lower as understanding dawned on him. “I take it that you had an accident of sorts?”

“Of sorts,” Dick echoed flatly, the euphemism rough on his tongue.

Dick filled his mouth with his drink like Nix had before, then pushed it all down with a mighty swallow. The alcohol and the soda combined burned his throat, making him cough.

“Hey, easy with that,” Nix murmured, patting his back.

“The other guy, he got away with a slap on the wrist,” Dick continued when he could breathe again. “Said that I’d made him drink.” The irony of the accusation had not escaped him at the time.

“Piece of shit,” Nix muttered.

Dick rubbed his face with the heel of his hand. “I had an impeccable record,” he murmured, hearing the whiny note in his voice but unable to stop it. “Highest marks of my class. It didn’t matter.”

“Well, it should have fucking mattered,” Nix replied. His hand was now drawing soothing circles on Dick’s back, and there was no denying it, it was terribly nice. He hadn’t been touched in so long. “It damn well should have.”

Nix’s hand climbed up to the back of his neck, touching the longer hair there, his touch light but purposeful, and Dick exhaled a sigh and leaned into it.

“Fuck ‘em. You’re a good man.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’ve got eyes, don’t I?”

And sure, yeah, Dick wasn’t naïve, he knew that Nix was just saying things to get what he wanted, but it felt so good to hear the words that he didn’t actually care. And besides, didn’t they want the same thing?

“You’re a decent man. You wake up every morning, you bust your ass off, you do your part. Take my word for it, that’s more than those fuckers can say for themselves.”

The fingers on the back of Dick’s neck had moved up to cradle his nape, fingertips massaging his scalp gently. It felt sweet, and heart-wrenching, and undeserved, and he wanted more of it. He wanted all of it. He closed his eyes against the feeling, then opened them again.

“I like that,” he murmured.

“I wanna do all the things you like.”

Nix started leaning in as if he might try to kiss him, but then something at the far end of the street caught his eye and he stilled. It was nothing, just a stray cat jumping from wall to wall, but Dick was reminded that they were out in the open, and even out there at the periphery of the empire, someone would find exception in two men locking lips in public.

“My roommate is out of town,” Dick said. “It’s not fancy or anything,” he added immediately, remembering that Nix came from money.

“Red, I’ll let you fuck me up against that wall,” Nix eyed the wall in question, “if that’s my only chance.”

Dick smiled. “I’ve got a bed.”

“Then, as far as I’m concerned, it’s fucking Christmas.”


	2. Chapter 2

**2.**

_Now_

They lie on top of each other on the narrow bed, limbs a tangle, until sleep overcomes them. It doesn’t take long. They just about exchange three words before Nix is snoring on Dick’s shoulder, an arm thrown carelessly around his waist. Idly stroking Nix’s hair, Dick fills his eyes with the sight of them together for as long as he can, fighting sleep until he forgets what he’s doing and why, and he’s pulled down into the darkness soon after.

He had plans. In his mind picture they’d meet and have lunch first, and they’d talk for a long time. They’d start with work, of course. The latest salvage missions, the latest routes of the newly operational _Regatta_. They’d take their time with it, and the conversation would naturally move on to more personal matters, their families, their free time. At some point Dick would nerve up and ask him if he’d been traveling, and by traveling he’d mean cruising. Nix would understand, and he’d say yes, or no. He would ask Dick, _Have you?_ , and Dick would say, _No. I haven’t had the time_ , and Nix would understand. Ultimately they’d end up in the same place, of course, only with no hurry, with no fever. Dick would take his time, lavish and worship every inch of Nix’s body like he’d berated himself for not doing when he’d thought him dead, and it’d be messy if Nix wanted it messy, it’d be one big, beautiful mess…

He wakes up groggy and with a bad taste in his mouth and he knows that he’s slept too long. Nix is still firmly lodged on top of him; while asleep, his arm has climbed up Dick’s front and his hand is now resting on Dick’s chest, fingers closed together in a lax first. The room reeks of sex.

Now that he’s awake, Dick finds that he’s hungry—and not just hungry; starving. Small wonder, seeing how he hasn’t had a bite since the previous night.

He touches Nix’s shoulder, then when Nix doesn’t react, his hair. The thick black locks were messed up enough during their encounter that they have no pomaded structure left in them; threaded, they run freely through Dick’s fingers, and he gives in to the self-indulgent temptation of lingering there. There’s a singular, piercing joy to the moment that’s almost too much to bear.

Nix’s breathing pattern changes; he opens one eye, swallows. Dick’s thumb is stroking Nix’s cheekbone, but he stops when he notices that Nix is awake.

A drowsy little smile pushes up the corner of Nix’s mouth.

“Mmmmm. No need to stop.”

“Just for a minute,” Dick bargains, though he’s happy to comply. When his thumb runs over Nix’s temple, he feels Nix’s chest push a pleased sigh against his ribcage. “I wanna go out soon.”

“Out? What’s out?” Nix protests.

“Food.”

“Home food’s fine. I’m not picky.“

“I don’t keep food in the house,” Dick explains patiently. “I’m out for weeks on end, and they call at short notice.”

“All right, fine,” Nix surrenders. “If we must.”

“You can stay,” Dick proposes. “I’ll go grab something.”

“And let you out of my sight? I’m coming.”

“We’ve got all week,” Dick reminds him with a smile.

Finally, Nix pushes himself up on one elbow. He cups the side of Dick’s face in his hand and leans up for a kiss. Nix drags his mouth over Dick’s chin, his jaw, the hollow of his neck.

Something he learned very early on is that Nix really, really likes kissing.

“I’m so fucking happy I came,” Nix mumbles against his throat, voice muffled and sincere. Something trembles in his voice, something rough and brittle like a porous stone.

“Well, you did,” Dick rests his cheek on Nix’s forehead. “Twice.”

Nix chuckles happily, extracting his head from under Dick’s chin. “You used to be so prim and proper. Where did you pick up this gutter humor?”

“There’s this friend of mine, maybe you know him? He swears like a sailor.”

Nix chuckles even harder, delighted. He kisses Dick one last time, his tongue drawing deep, lazy circles inside Dick’s mouth. 

“You taste like cock,” he murmurs hotly. His hand drops down to Dick’s belly, brushes his hip bone, tickles the soft hair on his inner thigh.

“Nix—I’m hungry, come on,” Dick complains, but Nix is already touching, gripping, assessing his chances. Dick’s cock, the traitor, deserts to the enemy immediately, turning heavier in Nix’s palm. Nix hums a triumphant note against Dick’s jaw.

“Me too,” he says, body shifting downwards, surprisingly nimble in the cramped space of the single bed. Within a second, Dick’s legs are grabbed, lifted, pushed unceremoniously up to his chest. 

Nix’s mouth is on his balls next. He runs his tongue over and between them, then drags a wet, unapologetic trail down to Dick’s hole. He teases it for a second, just two small flicks of his tongue, and with that Dick is already sighing and twitching, won over before he’s given a chance to put up a fight.

“Anyone ever make you come like this?” Nix dips his thumbs in Dick’s buttcheeks, pries them open gently, brushes the ginger hairs aside. “Just from this?”

Dick shakes his head, breathless.

Between his knees, Nix’s smile is blinding.

  
  
  


_Then_

Dick woke up because a ray of sunlight was shining hard and bright on his face. Peeking through a gap in the shutter left by a broken slat, the sun drew a hard line all the way across the room, cutting Dick’s face and the bed in half, and even though Dick was facing the other way, the light still burned through his eyelid and painted the darkness orange.

A semi-familiar smell was tickling his nose, but he didn’t have time to search for it in his memory, because as soon as he opened his eyes, the mystery solved itself: it was the man’s, Nixon’s, _Nix’s_ hair pomade he was smelling, and that was Nix’s hair on his pillow, a scant inch from his face, and that was Nix’s body he was hugging from behind in a way that, though made necessary by the limited room, felt awfully conjugal.

He got up slowly, trying not to upset the old springs, and extracted himself managing miraculously not to wake Nix up. He found his skivvies under the nightstand; the shirt he’d been wearing the previous night he gave up on, pulling a fresh one from the trunk at the foot of the bed.

He moved around in the tiny kitchen slowly and quietly, putting together enough coffee for a full pot, and sat for a while as the coffee brewed and he finished waking up. Once the coffee started mumbling, its smell rapidly filling the room, he relocated close to the stove, ready to kill the gas.

It was almost done when he heard the bed springs creak, and soon after, Nix’s naked steps trudge over to the kitchen door.

He turned his head. In his underwear and yesterday’s wrinkled and unbuttoned shirt, hair a mess and pillow creases printed all over his cheek, Nix looked roughed-up in the best way possible, a textbook picture of morning-after debauchery. He looked pretty much awake, though he had an unguarded air about him, which was new, very different from the over-confident man of the world who’d picked Dick up from his troubles and offered him a shoulder to cry on—and the rest of the body to go with it.

Dick smiled encouragingly. He could tell that Nix was lingering, trying to re-assess their relative position in the daylight. He understood. He felt the same. Only he had the upper hand now, as this was his turf.

“Morning,” he said. “I made coffee.”

“Morning,” Nix answered, stepping away from the door frame. He entered the kitchen, barefooted steps producing a soft, sticky noise as he walked over to the table. A chair was pulled aside; it creaked under his weight as he sat. “Yes, please.”

Dick turned off the gas and poured two generous cups. Nix accepted his with a murmured word of thanks.

Dick was sure that they both knew the gist: coffee, a little small talk, a shower, and then Nix would collect his stuff and go about his business. If there was an intention to ever meet again, perhaps a kiss would be exchanged at the door; if there wasn’t, a goodbye would suffice. Once a man, a Southern gentleman, had insisted on shaking Dick’s hand. He hoped that Nix wouldn’t go for that.

“Did you sleep all right?” Dick asked politely.

Nix nodded, smirking vaguely at this attempt at conversation.

“I always do,” he answered, though if he meant every night or just every time he bedded a stranger, Dick couldn’t say.

“You were lucky—,” Dick started.

“I certainly was.”

Dick smiled. “I mean with the weather. It’s not too hot these days. Last week—”

“Dick,” Nix interrupted him again, touching his hand on the table. “No weather talk, please.”

Dick closed his mouth. Nix’s fingers brushed his knuckles gently, following the relief of the veins on the back of his hand.

“So,” Nix started, looking at Dick’s hand instead of at his face, “I’m in town for a couple days. I’ve gotta go check on the repairs and there’s some business I need to see to, but other than that, I’m at your disposal.” He looked up. “You know. If you’re interested?”

Dick started nodding already ahead of speaking. “I’d like that.”

“Good.” Nix looked suddenly relieved, and purely by contrast Dick realized that the man had been nervous about asking. It seemed ridiculous: a guy who looked and talked and dressed like that, surely would have no trouble finding company to his liking, even if Dick showed him the door.

He suddenly felt like clearing the air; uncertainty in human relations grated at his nerves.

“I wanna say, last night,” he started, nursing his cup of coffee. “It was good.” He paused, feeling a warm rush of blood climb up to his face. “It was really good.”

Nix parted his lips as if to speak, then seemed to change his mind halfway through and smiled warmly instead. He shook his head as he brought the mug up to his mouth.

“What?” Dick asked.

“You’re blushing.” Nix hinted at Dick’s face with the hand holding the mug. “I don’t mean it like it’s a bad thing. I mean—I like it. It’s cute.”

“Cute,” Dick repeated.

“Yeah. Sweet.”

Dick was a grown man, and as such, unused to be called words that would better suit a child, but he didn’t take offense. Nix’s tone was not disparaging, nor mocking; mildly surprised, yes, but warm, and not as if Dick had failed some unspoken qualification.

“Not a lot of blushing last night,” Nix teased.

“It was dark,” Dick replied.

“I think I would’ve seen it,” Nix replied. “Your face. Glowing in the dark like a lightbulb.”

“I doubt it,” Dick retorted, heartbeat picking up. “Seeing as I was behind you most of the time.”

He retreated with the excuse of putting the empty mugs away in the sink, leaving Nix’s amused expression behind. A disbelieving chuckle followed him, then came the hurried scraping of the chair being pushed back.

Dick put down the mugs and tried to turn around, but Nix put his hands on Dick’s shoulders and held him gently in place. When Dick didn’t wriggle free, only turned his chin a little sideways, Nix wrapped his arms around Dick’s waist and landed a heated kiss on the side of Dick’s neck. Encouraged by Dick’s pleased sigh, he leaned forward, slotting his growing hard-on between Dick’s buttcheeks. In response, Dick bent his arm backward and threaded his fingers through Nix’s hair, gripping lightly at the messy locks. Drawn closer, invited, Nix locked his mouth around the flesh of Dick’s shoulder and sucked in a series of rough, sloppy kisses. 

Nix’s face was rough with stubble, so much so that it would certainly scratch and leave angry red marks later, and normally Dick would have been bothered, but now, inexplicably, the low-grade pain had the opposite effect.

“Your roommate still out of town?” Nix asked, though his right hand was already reaching around Dick’s hip before he heard the answer, undoing the front buttons and pushing deep into Dick’s skivvies.

“Yes,” Dick breathed.

Nix hummed appreciatively. His fingers gripped Dick’s quickly hardening cock and gave it two long pulls, his pelvis grinding lazily against Dick’s backside all the while.

“The table,” Nix mouthed in the shell of Dick’s ear.

“Yeah?” 

“Think it’s sturdy enough?”

Dick hummed an assent. It was an old piece of furniture, scraped and dented in places, the paint chipped away by use and exposure to the salty air, but the legs were still strong. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Nix continued, arousal clear in the way his voice turned lower, hot and charged. He dragged his thumb over the head of Dick’s cock, rubbing the wet slit over and over. “About you bending me over it.”

He left that hanging and loosened his grip around Dick’s waist at the same time. Dick turned in his arms. Nix’s handsome face was a florid pink, his eyes with the mile-long lashes dark and gleaming with desire. Surely, he told himself, this man could have his pick of stranded Navy rejects. That he was so set on Dick, of all men, defied both chance and belief.

He grabbed Nix’s arm and spun him around, walking him back to the edge of the table. Once there, he spread his free hand between Nix’s shoulder blades and pushed him down, gradually but without hesitation. Nix let himself be handled, pliant and eager, until his cheek was pressed on the surface.

Dick pulled Nix’s boxers down, pushed a knee between his legs to make him widen his stance, then took a step back, swallowing at the sight of Nix’s body offered and ready for the taking. Nix lifted his head just enough to cast an expectant glance over his shoulder. He was already drawing quick, shallow breaths through his parted lips.

Eyes locked with Nix’s, Dick dragged his middle finger up Nix’s inner thigh, brushed Nix’s balls which hung heavy and full between his spread legs, and ran the fingertip carefully over the little strip of skin and across the rim of Nix’s hole, which twitched and contracted before giving in to the touch. It was just a little moist with sweat, but dry otherwise, and so in need of some preparation if they were to do this right.

“Don’t move,” Dick ordered, going back to the bedroom to pick up the tin of jelly and a condom. When he came back, Nix—who indeed hadn’t moved—shot him a heated look from across the table.

Slicking Nix and himself up was quick and easy; Nix was relaxed, his body accepting Dick’s fingers and then his cock with very little resistance. Nix took a shuddering breath once Dick was in all the way, the only visible tension left around his neck, which was tilted upwards. Dick ran his fingers through Nix’s hair and pushed Nix’s face gently back down on the table as he rocked into him.

“Fuck,” Nix groaned, the throaty sound vibrating against Dick’s fingers. “Like that. Just like that. Fuck, this is the best.”

Dick pushed in and out at the exact same pace, aiming at the exact same angle. Nix was already lost in the sensation; he muttered urgings and heated nothings into the table, and Dick followed by ear, interpreting the sounds and the intentions more than the words. He was losing it fast, Nix was, and so Dick used the last shreds of control he had left to find the spot that made Nix squirm and swear and beg the hardest and just gave it to him over and over, firm and steady, until Nix tensed and groaned and came in his own hand, clenching his ass tight around Dick’s cock. Dick took his pleasure then, just a short ride at that point, though long enough that eventually Nix managed to catch his breath and see him through it, his face twitching at each push driving the tip of Dick’s cock against that overused, over-sensitive spot inside him.

“Come on, come on—Yes. Yes. So good. So good—,” Nix breathed as Dick finished, the last few pushes frantic, all attempts at rhythm ruined by the mounting orgasm. He collapsed on Nix’s back, kissing his shoulder blade through the soaked fabric of his shirt, and rubbed his forehead against it as he drew a few gasping breaths.

“God in Heaven, Dick,” Nix sighed fiercely, snatching Dick’s hand on the table and threading his fingers through Dick’s knuckles. He pulled it to his mouth, kissing it. “Where the hell have you been all my life?”

Dick chuckled, breathless, slipping out of Nix but remaining blanketed over the man’s back. In a moment he would have to move, but not just yet. 

“Happy to please,” he murmured, resting his cheek on Nix’s back.

“That you did, my friend,” Nix confirmed, twisting his arm back to pat Dick’s side fondly, like a good horse. “That you did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The explicit scene at the end of this chapter is a homage to Mucca's fantastic desk smut in [Desk, Set, Match](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23271388). Check it out!


	3. Chapter 3

**3.**

_Now_

The sun is setting when Dick manages to drag Nix to the old harbor under the promise of a gigantic pan of fried shrimp. Uncharacteristically, once they get there Nix just shrugs at the unavailability of his favorite scotch and orders a local whisky and soda instead; Dick asks for a local drink—“But lay off the rum,” he requests, making the Cuban bartender wrinkle his nose and Nix roll his eyes.

“I think you just broke that man’s heart,” Nix whispers once the guy turns around to grab the right bottle.

It’s an informal place, little more than a kiosk with a kitchen hidden from sight and a set of old, scraped tables scattered all around. Customers order at the window and pick up their food and drinks when ready. And it’s in a noisy enough spot that even that late in the day their voices, kept low by habit, will blend with the chatter and traffic of the harbor.

Dick shrugs, utterly unsympathetic with the plea of drinking men who can’t stand sobriety in others. “He’ll live.”

“You do that a lot?” Nix asks.

“Order temperance drinks?”

“Break a man’s heart.”

Dick smiles faintly. The poking around is a little obvious, but in character. Nix isn’t the kind of man who’ll ask a straight question if he can make a joke about it instead.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” he teases back, but Nix isn’t satisfied with that.

“No one?” he insists. “Come on.”

Dick breathes in a mouthful of sea air, which is fresh and sparkling and tangy with the darker notes coming from the harbor. He’s come to like the smell, layered as it is, the good mixed with the bad, the living with the rotten.

“I don’t know about heartbreaks, but I met someone in—October, I think it was.” Eight months, God. “He was with the Navy.”

“I thought we didn’t like the Navy,” Nix jokes.

“The Navy’s what it is,” Dick concedes. “He was nice.”

Nix fidgets with his pack of Cuban cigars. He stopped to buy them on the way to the harbor, insisted in fact, exasperating Dick’s empty stomach.

“You mean he was good,” Nix corrects, eagerly sticking a cigar between his lips and lighting it. He takes a couple starting puffs and a cloud of soft, acrid smoke blows Dick’s way, carried by the breeze.

Dick makes a face before he can stop himself.

“Ah, damn it,” Nix swears, hiding the hand with the cigar behind his back, away from Dick. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right. I don’t mind,” Dick lies.

The guy is waving at them through the window, and they walk back to the booth to pick up their order.

“What about you?” Dick asks after they sit down, trying—and he suspects, failing—to sound casual.

“Mm? What about me?” Nix takes a pull from his cigar, this time turning his head to blow the smoke to the side.

“You break any hearts?”

“Ah,” Nix says, as if he hadn’t realized that that conversation was still happening. “Well,” he shrugs, “nothing to write home about.” He taps his cigar on the side of a crude ashtray made from an excavated coconut shell. “What happened to your nice friend?” he asks instead, smirking behind the cigar.

Dick shrugs too, feigning a nonchalance that he knows won’t look half as convincing as Nix’s own.

“We went steady for a while. But then I got called for that job out by Brunswick—The one before you. And then I don’t know.” He plays with his glass. “I had other things on my mind.”

“ _Things_? Such as?”

“You know what I mean,” Dick replies, firmly enough that Nix stops playing dumb.

“So you cut him off.” The half of Nix’s mouth that’s not wrapped around the cigar is smiling openly now.

“It’s not that I cut him off,” Dick explains patiently. He had something ready for this conversation, didn’t he? A whole thing. He had rehearsed it in his mind. “We weren’t like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like this.” He means whatever it is that they are, but _this_ will have to do for now, ’cause he’s not ready to say ‘ _you and me’_ and hear how hopeful and childish that sounds _._

“Aha,” Nix says softly, pretending to contemplate the answer. “And what is _this_ like?” He moves the hand which holds the cigar loosely between middle and forefinger, pointing at Dick and then at his own chest. He’s still smiling, still finding some obscure amusement in teasing Dick, in prying admissions out of him that he’d meant to keep locked up.

“You know what it’s like.” Or at least, Dick hopes he does.

“Maybe I don’t.”

“Nix.”

“Maybe,” Nix smiles, “I just wanna hear you say it.”

“Let’s not, okay?” Dick replies, suddenly brought up short, mood turning a little sour in the face of Nix’s relentless teasing. “Play games.”

Nix scoffs. “I’m not. It was an honest question.”

Dick doesn’t answer. He had forgotten how it is with Nix sometimes, how he can turn a straight question into a labyrinth, endlessly talking in circles, only to deny it all when the bluff is called. He had forgotten how he’ll talk himself into a hole and refuse to come out if it’s not on his own terms. He wonders if he grew up an only child, a rich kid traveling all the time, never making a lasting friend—or maybe he was plagued with higher intelligence and a slower growth, all the kids around him older, dumber, stronger than him.

Nix rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, and puts away the cigar to start on his food.

“Fine, sweetheart. Be like that.” The moniker is a joke, as if Dick were the petty wife and he the long-suffering husband. They start eating, and for a while they don’t speak at all.

Dick decides to call it a day when Nix has had enough Havana Clubs for his conversation to take a mellow, sentimental turn. Nix’s eyebrows are doing expressive somersaults on his face, and his hands have started wandering.

The concierge at Nix’s hotel recognizes him and hands him his key without a word, casting Dick just the quickest glance. If the man thinks that something untoward is happening or about to happen, his poker face holds on flawlessly.

One step around the corner, Nix’s hands are on Dick’s waist, and Dick has to grip Nix’s arms and twist them away. He wins one, loses one; he barely has time to push Nix aside again before the elevator doors open with a shrill _ding_.

“Fifteenth,” Nix requests, his demeanor perfectly composed, as if he hadn’t been kissing a man in the middle of the corridor just a moment earlier.

As the machine slides smoothly upwards, Dick focuses on the polished surface of the doors and tries to ignore the way his cheek and jaw burn after Nix’s stubbly assault. He’s got to wonder if the operator can see the red rush on his face.

When they reach the floor, Nix tips the man generously and compliments him on his work. The elevator doors close on the puzzled man’s face.

The hallway is empty and quiet, but Dick knows that he’s got to pay attention for both of them before Nix charges again, hands closing possessively around Dick’s hips, mouth attacking the hollow of his neck.

“Nix—for Pete’s sake,” Dick hisses, both exasperated and secretly turned on by the other man’s eagerness. “What’s your room number?”

“Oh-Five—Oh-Six,” Nix mumbles vaguely on his throat.

Dick reaches into Nix’s trouser pocket.

“All _right_ ,” Nix mumbles happily, “now we’re talk—”

“Fifteen-Oh-Six,” Dick reads aloud, checks the door numbers, then turns on his heels. Nix follows, almost stumbling as he tries to replicate Dick’s smooth turn, reflexes hampered by the alcohol. Thank God most guests are still at the restaurant, or maybe back in their rooms; nobody sees Dick swiftly open the door, or the two men enter together with the revealing, conspiratorial look of the up-to-no-good.

So now it’s Nix’s turn to pin him against the door in the dark room that smells like air freshener and vacuumed carpets. Dick lets him, relaxed now that they’re safely tucked away, and meets his mouth blindly for a kiss.

Nix takes a deep breath and breaks free a little earlier than Dick expected. “Now let me get this straight,” he says, sounding very serious, and very drunk.

Dick hums distractedly, preoccupied with Nix’s shirt buttons. Once he’s found the first and flicked it, the others follow easily, jumping out of their holes like trained fleas.

“Here you are, _going steady_ with Mr. Nice Guy,” Nix starts, fumbling with Dick’s belt.

Dick chuckles in disbelief. “Are you still thinking about that?”

“What’s his name, by the way? No, let me guess. Something. Something like—,” he tugs at the belt ineffectively, “Gary, or Walter, or—Fuck this goddamn—”

“Buck,” Dick offers, suspecting that now that Nix has embarked on this rant the only way to see him out of it is through. He helps him with the buckle, collecting a relieved mumble in response.

“Here we— _Buck_? What, rea—Okay. So here you’re going steady with,” he takes a laughing breath, shakes his head and they are so close that Dick can smell a whiff of pomade as he does, “Buck, _Jesus_ —two birds of a feather, two fine Navy specimens bonding over your common sodomitic past—”

He fishes Dick’s cock out of his briefs and Dick breathes out in surrender, pinned against the door as he is by Nix’s knee thrust between his legs.

“Was he big? I think he was. I mean, he must’ve been, right? I know what you—Now, now, don’t clutch your pearls, Our Lady of Cocksucking.”

“I’m not—,” Dick protests in the dark.

“Buh-buh-buh,” Nix shushes him. “The adults are talking. What was l—So. This guy’s sweet on you, right, and his nice, huge cock is also very, very sweet—”

Dick tries to interrupt again, but he can’t stop the landslide with his bare hands; he can’t even deflect its course. Undeterred, Nix punctuates his monologue with a couple pulls to Dick’s cock which are a hair rougher than Dick likes, but not altogether unpleasant.

“The poor bastard. The poor, poor fucker. Little does he know, this—this giant cock with a man attached, that all it takes is for _me_ to—I mean, I didn’t. I didn’t plan for my tanker to get fucking torpedoed, I just, it _happened_ , I didn’t—,” he chuckles, “and that’s it, boom,” he snaps his fingers, “out goes Bucky and his monstrous pecker, _no más_ , _shoo-shoo baby_ , _frankly my dear I don’t give a damn_ , and holy shit, Red, you’re one cold-hearted gal.”

He must be enjoying some of this, at least, the part of him that’s sober enough to enjoy things, this little power trip where he gets to rewrite Dick’s history according to his own script. If Dick thought that it’s just a joke at his expense he wouldn’t take it, no matter how much he wants to be with Nix right now, his pride wouldn’t let him humor him this far. But Nix’s voice is dripping warmth and affection and there’s this strange, raw intensity buried under the rapid fire of his monologue that just unravels all the strings of Dick’s heart.

Nix’s body shifts in the dark, fabric rustling on fabric; Dick feels Nix’s knee drop next to his own foot. He pictures him kneeling on the floor now, holding Dick’s cock in his hand and talking to it like he’s scolding it, blaming it first and foremost for Dick’s selfish behavior.

“What I’m tryna say is,” Nix continues, warm breath fanning over Dick’s cock, “if you think that I’m going to step aside for the next well-endowed asshole who shows up while I’m away and—and calls you a pretty girl, you’re—For Christ’s sake, I—I— _I can’t—_ ”

He rests his forehead against Dick’s hipbone, grinding slowly against it, and at first Dick thinks that the soft spasms shaking his shoulders are laughs, but then suddenly he’s not so sure. He stands still, frozen speechless as Nix pours a string of wet, broken, unintelligible mumblings into his hip, and finally rests his cheek there, panting, out of breath, out of words.

Dick’s hand hovers, uncertain where to rest, until it finally touches Nix’s temple.

“Hey, come on. Come on, Lew. Come up here,” he murmurs.

“I won’t, I won’t stand for it,” Nix stammers in an obstinate voice and refuses to move, so Dick grabs him by the armpits and pulls him up on his feet and into a hug.

Dick kisses his salty cheek, his jaw, the corner of his mouth; Nix’s mouth opens for him blindly, readily, pulling him into a sloppy kiss.

“Let’s get you to bed now.”

“I won’t,” Nix mumbles again, but Dick threads his fingers through Nix’s hair and takes a shaky breath.

“I know. We’ll talk tomorrow,” he promises.

Later, lying curled together in the largest bed Dick has slept in in years, Nix seems a little more in control, calm, almost sobered up.

Nix runs a hand over Dick’s arm wrapped around his waist, one, two times, pensively, like he does when he’s got something on his mind, a gripping thought that just won’t let go.

Dick kisses behind Nix’s ear, breathes in the scent of his hair. “I’m gonna try and get some sleep.”

The words seem to make something snap inside Nix. His hand stops moving, his fingers curl sharply around Dick’s wrist.

“It’s not even her dog,” he says, his grip progressively relenting as if his energy is bleeding out of this body at each word. “It’s my dog.”

And before Dick can say anything, maybe ask a question, he continues in a flat, matter-of-fact voice, almost as if they were discussing oil prices, or ship repairs, or tomorrow’s weather.

“She’s taking everything.”

_Then_

“Why the Navy?”

They were sitting at the harbor, watching _Regatta_ rock gently in the water and cast a long dark shadow to starboard. Inside her belly, carpenters and blacksmiths were still hard at work on the repairs.

“Mm?”

“You said you volunteered,” Nix elaborated, shaking the ash off his cigarette. “Country boys usually end up in the Army.”

“Ah.” Dick shrugged. “I liked the idea. I thought I’d be good at it.” He pursed his lips, thinking back to a time when life had been open and full of possibilities, each one more interesting than the next.

“Did you know anything about ships?”

“No more than I knew about tanks.”

“Ha. Good point.”

“I liked swimming,” Dick added after a moment.

Nix snorted. “Did you go swimming every Sunday in the pond behind the neighbor’s farm?”

“Not a farm. But yeah, something like that.” Dick felt his face get a little warm at the memory. “There was a spot.”

Nix’s mouth curled up in a smirk. “A _spot_ , huh?” he murmured around the cigarette.

Dick nodded.

“Ah,” Nix sighed sentimentally, “the joys of the countryside.”

“I _didn’t_ ,” Dick clarified. “Not really. Not until I left home. But it was,” he smiled, “a bit of an education all the same.”

Nix bumped his shoulder playfully into Dick’s. “Did you all join up together, the gay Sunday swimmers?”

“Some did,” Dick answered, leaning back against him. “We all got different assignments, though.”

“Mmm. Bunch of queers heading down to the local Navy board arm in arm, singing ‘Blow The Man Down’? They must’ve rolled out the red carpet.” He took a drag off his cigarette, looking awfully pleased with his joke.

Dick elbowed Nix’s ribcage, making him sputter a puff of smoke.

“Violence won’t silence the truth,” Nix coughed with an indignant chuckle.

“I’m sure that the Merchant Marine holds its men to a higher standard,” Dick teased.

“Oh, the standards were excellent,” Nix confirmed. “Honestly, I was starting to despair that I’d never find that kind of _standards_ again.” He cast a little sideways glance to Dick’s face, then turned his head deliberately towards _Regatta_. He sniffed. “Until very recently, that is.”

Dick took a shallow breath, feeling the same fuzzy warmth in the pit of his stomach that he’d felt that first night, only with no alcohol to blame this time. “You obviously went to the best schools yourself.”

That made Nix smile, which made Dick smile back. He wondered how obvious they looked right now, two men sitting together on the quayside, sides glued from hip to shoulder. People had a way of seeing only what they wanted to see, but how did you go about pretending that the way Nix was smiling at him—soft, unguarded, warm—was simply because of a silly joke?

Which brought other, less pleasant thoughts. “They’re almost done, aren’t they?” Dick asked, tipping his chin at the ship.

“Yeah,” Nix nodded.

“Tomorrow?”

“Hm-mm. I want to be in Jersey before night. We got cargo due Sunday.”

“A-ha. Where?”

“Providence.”

“That’s tight. Will you make it?”

“I think so. Or else we’ll pay the penalties.” Nix shrugged as if it made no difference to him, then gestured at _Regatta._ “As I said, we tried to put it off, but the lady couldn’t wait.”

Dick fidgeted with a loose strand sticking out of the hem of his trouser leg. He’d been thinking about saying something for days now, considered speaking more than once, but over and over again he’d gone and censored himself. Perhaps now was as good a moment as any.

On and off, they’d spent the best part of two days together. They’d eaten and walked around town and gone swimming and even gone to the pictures once, on a slow afternoon when a dark theater had seemed like their best chance to escape the heat. The nights they’d spent in Dick’s tiny place, both of them, exploring increasingly more creative solutions to avoid destroying a bed frame that had been designed with more modest ambitions than what they were putting it through. Admittedly, the adventure had started to give way to a certain tedium in that regard, to the point where Nix had mentioned a hotel room once or twice, but Dick had no money to his name and he wasn’t going to let the man pay for his part, so they’d left it at that.

“Maybe you’ll stop by next time you’re headed south,” Dick said, though the absurdity of suggesting that Nix use the steam tanker as a taxicab hit him as soon as the words left his mouth.

“Yeah?” Nix smiled. “Why?”

Dick opened his hands as if to say, _Isn’t it obvious?_ , but he regretted it almost immediately. There was no use being coy about it.

“I want to see you again.”

Nix’s smile grew a little, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he sucked the rest of his cigarette in one deep drag, like he’d suddenly remembered he had someplace to be, and threw what was left of it into the water.

“Wanna come up and see the repairs? I could use a second opinion.” He got on his feet and held out a hand to help Dick up.

“I’m not with the repair crew,” Dick said, but he took the hand anyway.

Nix’s other hand closed around Dick’s arm, squeezing it warmly. “Come on. I’ll give you the tour.”

Nix guided him below deck, to the cofferdam where two smiths were at work in the cramped buffer space between the tanks, welding the damaged bulkhead. Dick was no expert in that sort of thing, but some salvage knowledge had rubbed off on him in the couple months he’d been with the Service, and he could see that they were almost done with it.

“It’s hot down here,” Nix said, because between the welding and the lack of windows and the tiny size of the room, it was admittedly hard to breathe. “Let’s go grab some fresh air.”

The captain’s cabin was rather nice, surprisingly spacious for a tanker, which was all about maximizing cargo capacity and not the crew’s comfort. The berth was pretty standard, hidden from view in a tiny room of its own, but across it was a large dining table, big enough for six if they weren’t overly formal about it, and a comfortable writing desk sat in the corner by the porthole. Pinned on it lay a spread-out chart of the East Coast from Massachusetts to Florida, scribbled and dog-eared and stabbed by years of compass measurements. The most tortured spot was Elizabeth, New Jersey, which Dick assumed was their main port, the name almost carved out where the paper had started tearing.

On the shelf above the desk sat a model yacht on its stand, a beautiful sailing boat built to race, not to serve as decoration. It looked strangely out of place—despite the nautical theme—in a room which displayed very few personal items.

“You build models?” Dick asked.

“Not for twenty years,” Nix answered, opening a low cabinet which appeared to be a well-stocked bar. “Pick it up, take a look. It won a prize once.”

“For racing?”

“Uh-huh. Back in Jersey. ’26.”

Dick carefully lifted the model from its stand to give it a closer look. It was heavy too, what with the three masts and the long hull hollowed out of a solid block of wood.

“The rudder’s chipped off,” Dick observed.

“Good eye. It’s a battle scar; I never fixed it. You used to build?”

Dick shook his head. “Father did. Not this kind, though; he was into replicas.”

“Why? Racing them is half the fun.”

“I’m sure he would disagree,” Dick replied, putting the ship back where it belonged.

In doing so, he realized that another object sat on the shelf next to it, a little tucked away on the side of the wall. It was a silver-framed photograph.

“What’s your poison?” Nix asked, taking out two glasses.

“Thanks, I don’t,” Dick replied automatically, his eyes being forcibly dragged back to the frame.

“Now, now, we both know that’s not—”

Dick picked up the photograph. Behind him, Nix stopped talking.

Had it only featured the lady, he might have been tempted to ignore it, or blatantly kid himself: a sister, maybe? She was a brunette. But on the child he could have no doubt: a little boy, roughly one year old, dark-haired and round-faced with a straight nose and straight eyebrows and a pouty mouth. Maybe he too, one day, would go by ‘Nix’.

“You’re married,” Dick said quietly, putting the photograph back on its shelf.

“Yeah.”

From that flat, unsurprised acknowledgement Dick understood that Nix hadn’t really worried about hiding the information, which was indeed sitting in plain sight. Maybe he’d invited Dick there precisely to make him stumble upon it.

“You should’ve told me.”

Nix scoffed noisily, like the proposition was absurd. Dick turned his head, casting him a stern look, and Nix had the decency to look a little awkward, at least.

“When?” Nix shrugged.

“When we met.”

“That’s hardly a good pick-up line, is it?”

Dick shook his head. He didn’t know what to reply to that.

“Maybe the morning after, then,” Nix continued pointedly, “while you fucked me over your kitchen table. Or yesterday, what was it,” his voice got more heated at Dick’s apparent lack of reaction, “yeah, it was the bed again, wasn’t it?” He poured himself a glass with furious carelessness, scotch spilling on the table top and on his fingers. “Or today, even.” He held his loose fist in front of his mouth to remind Dick of what exactly he had been doing at the time. “ _Oh, by the way, I’ve got a wife and a kid back home. All right, back to work!_ Good luck staying hard after _that_.”

Dick pressed his lips together. Disappointment burned at the back of his throat almost as badly as the alcohol had, and when he felt disappointed, Dick was inclined to bitterness. Right now he had a wealth of bad, whiny, regretful responses fluttering in his mouth like flies in an overturned glass, only waiting to be let out and do harm.

“You’re right. That’s all we’ve been doing.”

It was by far not the most hurtful thing that had come to mind, but cutting enough that Nix paused for a second, mouth drawn tight, before he resumed what he was doing at double the speed. He grabbed the glass and raised it to his mouth, swallowing a few, hasty gulps of whisky.

Dick contemplated saying something else, poking the aching tooth, but his distaste turned into almost revulsion when he saw the scotch drip from Nix’s chin onto his light blue shirt, drawing an elongated stain on his chest. Suddenly he realized that he didn’t know this man at all, no matter what his touch-starved body might have been suggesting to him in the past couple of days. They were not friends; they were barely acquaintances. That they’d stuck together for this long, that they’d shared things other than sex, that was the anomaly: a testimony to boredom and convenience on Nix’s part, and loneliness on Dick’s.

“I’ll see myself out,” he said flatly.

Nix’s frustrated words reached him when he was already at the door, but he didn’t stop, didn’t turn to address them.

“For fuck’s sake, Dick. This isn’t _about you_.”


	4. Chapter 4

**4.**

_Now_

The water glimmers and shines on Nix’s skin as he walks out of the ocean, rivulets rushing down his shoulders, his chest, his calves. His chest hair glints with droplets; his light blue swimming shorts cling to his legs as if glued, hinting at the volumes underneath. Dick tries not to stare, to fix his eyes on the expanse of water in front of him, but his gaze keeps circling back to Nix as the man makes his way back to their spot.

One thing to be said about Nix is that he’s got excellent taste in lodgings, and while he’s a largely unfussy type, left to his own devices he tends to splurge. Right now they’re wasting some time at the Casa Marina, enjoying the long stretch of private beach which is quieter and more secluded than any of Key West’s public spots. Other customers are lounging at a comfortable distance, the attendance sparse in the central hours of the day because of the choking heat: two couples overall, sunbathing and drinking already. Nix’s own drink is sweating on its table under the umbrella. A waitress comes by at intervals, discreetly taking away the empty glasses and offering refills.

Nix lays his body down on his sun bed with a satisfied groan. His body shimmers in the sunlight, his uneven tan making him look more like a working-class man than he’ll ever be. His wet hair is combed back, the luscious black locks bearing the marks of his fingers raking their way through.

“You’re missing out. Water’s great,” Nix says, throwing Dick’s body a critical look.

“In a moment,” Dick promises. Unlike Nix, who shucked off his clothes and his Ray-Bans and walked into the ocean within seconds of their arrival, he likes waiting. He likes denying himself, feeling his body grow more and more uncomfortable in the heat until it’s almost too much. At that point, diving into the cold ocean water will be a proper shock, a sharp momentary discomfort followed by the sweetest relief. He tried to explain it to Nix once, but Nix laughed and said that the sun had gone to his head.

Nix reaches for the glass, which was served shortly after he’d gone in, and makes a face.

“I’m gonna have the man who put ice in my Vat 69 hanged by the balls,” he grumbles unhappily.

Dick was surprised to hear him order more alcohol so soon after last night. If Dick had poured a comparable amount of booze into his body, now he’d be crawling on his elbows and knees. Nix, however, came out of it unscathed: he’s got dark circles under his eyes and he’s in a bit of a mood, but apart from that, he seems to be doing just fine. He certainly dove into the water gracefully enough, his limbs under control, not as if he were staggering under a massive hangover. Effortlessly, he gained some distance from the beach and then swam back and forth along the shoreline a couple times, his strokes steady and regular and a pleasure to watch. For a man who prides himself on shunning unnecessary physical activity, Nix can display a surprising amount of athleticism when he’s in the water.

“It’s hot,” Dick comments, feeling like defending the nameless barman who got a whisky order in eighty-five degrees and probably thought that a room temperature drink was not what the customer wanted. He picks up his own soda “on the rocks”, but instead of drinking it, he rests the icy side of the glass against his cheek.

“Then get in the water,” Nix replies, misunderstanding what Dick’s saying. He takes a sip; displeased, probably unhappy with the watering down, he takes another.

“Isn’t it a little early for that?”

Nix is unfazed by the remark. “It’s four o’clock in London. Five o’clock in Paris. Happy hour.”

Dick scoffs softly. “Happy hour.”

“And civilization,” Nix continues, “which, no offense, you’re sorely in need of, my friend.”

“Yeah? Any ideas how to fix that?”

“We’ll go to Paris,” Nix declares. “I’ll take you there.”

“Sure. Have you cleared it up with Mr. Hitler already?”

“It won’t be long now.” Nix puts the glass down on the table and flops on his belly, pushing down the backrest of his sun bed until it lies flat. “They’ll take Berlin by Christmas. And then it’s you and me in gay _Paree_ ,” he continues with an affected accent, “a couple of drinks, maybe an early dinner before _ze_ theater. _Superbe._ ” He kisses the tips of his fingers like a proud chef.

Dick’s gaze rolls down to Nix’s calves before he can force it back up. A couple black locks fell on Nix’s forehead, making him look younger, more unruly, more like he looks in the bedroom.

“Getting ideas of your own?” Nix asks with an amused lilt to his voice, reading through him as easily as he can do sometimes.

Dick looks away, feeling caught.

Nix props his cheek up on his folded arm, eyes shining with obvious interest now. He carefully extends a hand to the edge of Dick’s sun bed, prodding Dick’s ribcage with a fingertip.

“Let’s hear ’em,” he murmurs.

“Nix,” Dick frowns.

“Just turn over,” Nix insists, refusing to let go now that he’s taken an interest in the topic. He hooks a finger in the waist of Dick’s swimming shorts. “Keep it nice and proper.”

“’Cause that’s all it takes to keep it proper,” Dick replies.

“Humor me. Come on.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Dick shakes his head, holding off a smile. He’s never been with a man who would broadcast his attraction as openly as Nix does, and it’s as refreshing as it’s maddening sometimes.

“Excuse me if I haven’t traveled fifteen-hundred miles to keep my hair up all the time.”

“Good for you, but I live here,” Dick objects.

Nix waves his concerns away. “It’s not like Joe Barbetti’s one to talk.”

“He asks for discretion,” Dick replies. “And I owe him as much. Besides,” his eyes flick over to the other customers, who are admittedly neither within earshot nor seemingly interested in their conversation.

“Half of them are queers anyway.” Nix points a thumb above his shoulder. “The guy in the yellow swimsuit, with the moustache? He’s that New York playwright. Williamson, or something.”

Dick is not abreast with the New York theatrical scene, but he doubts that that particular line of work is short of men of the _temperamental_ sort.

“I met him once,” Nix continues, “in a club.” He waits for Dick’s nod of acknowledgement that he knows exactly which type of club, then continues with a smirk: “You’re safe, I think. He’s into dark-haired fellows.”

Dick wonders if Nix talks from experience or is just teasing him for a laugh, but he can’t tell. He throws a more attentive glance to the man in question. He’s sunbathing with a friend of his own, a Cuban or Puerto Rican judging from the burnt-caramel tan. Key West is full of good-looking young Cubans, and many of them are short of cash. He wonders if the man brought his friend along all the way from New York, or—he adds uncharitably—if he likes to shop locally.

A crude joke comes to mind, one he once heard from a mouthy fellow midshipman: _Why take your own food to the restaurant?_

“Would he remember you?” Dick asks.

Nix shrugs. “It was dark.” Then, since Dick must look somewhat concerned by the whole story, he reaches out again and squeezes Dick’s shoulder. “Come on,” he says in a softer voice, equivocating what he’s seeing on Dick’s face. “Don’t give me the jealous missus, huh?”

Dick withholds a sigh. He doesn’t have words for the mix of feelings that are buzzing in his head this morning, but jealousy isn’t top of the list. Truth be told, he doesn’t know how he feels about Nix’s drunken confession. Part of him is worried; part of him guiltily elated. He isn’t even sure how much Nix remembers; worse still, he isn’t sure how much Nix is pretending not to remember, and it’s all he can do not to ask.

It’ll have to wait until Nix brings it up again.

“I’ll go swim,” Dick says, throwing his legs to the side and pushing himself up on his feet.

The water is wonderful, ocean waves tame in the near-still air, and Dick immediately feels the weight and sluggishness brought upon by the sultry weather lift. Full of energy, he falls into the familiar swimming rhythm, one stroke at a time, and when he finally lets the mild current push him back ashore he feels much better.

Nix is lying on his back, backrest propped up. When Dick walks out of the sea Nix smiles and makes a point of pushing his Ray-Bans down the bridge of his nose as if to better take in the sight. Slowly, unexpectedly, the smug little smirk morphs into a real smile, and Dick feels something quiver inside his chest in response. He smiles back, awkwardly, and this seems to trigger something in his friend.

“Come with me,” Nix says, bracing himself on his armrests to pull his body up on his feet.

“Where?”

Nix doesn’t answer, just starts walking away towards the changing rooms, and by the time Dick’s got a good inkling of what’s going on it’s too late, the lock of the changing closet clicks behind his back and he’s in a dimly lit booth and Nix’s smile is a beacon.

He’s got to wonder if this isn’t even worse, if the other customers won’t take note of their disappearance and timely reappearance more than they would notice some whispered conversation, but the swim has cooled down his antsiness somewhat, and Nix’s touch infallibly makes his stomach flutter and his knees go weak under him.

Nix’s body is dry and hot against his wet skin.

“Hm?” Nix murmurs after he breaks the kiss. “Not trying to make me change my mind?”

“That’ll only make you go at it harder,” Dick replies, stroking Nix’s back.

“Huh,” Nix considers the assessment, “you know me so well. Thrill of the chase and all that.” He strokes the back of Dick’s neck, studying his face for a moment. “And you’re just humoring me, right, Red?”

“Let’s keep it short,” Dick urges, reaching down to untie Nix’s swim shorts.

“Oh, you silver-tongued devil,” Nix snorts.

Dick smiles. “You can’t have it both ways, Lew.”

“I can and I do. Regularly so. Why, you’re still sitting funny from yesterday’s thrash—”

Dick laughs and shuts him up with a second kiss, and things go south from there.

Later, back to the beach, they find that the weather has turned. A minor thunderstorm is coming, but upon Nix’s insistence they stay, even after every other customer has left to shower and go to lunch.

“ _Now_ we’re alone,” Dick comments regretfully.

“My God, you’re insatiable,” Nix replies, way louder than he should, but they truly are alone at this point. The first thin raindrops start hitting their legs.

“What do you think you’ll do after this?”

Dick sticks a hand out from under the cover, palm up to check how bad it’s getting. At this point, it’s just a matter of minutes before it turns into a full-on storm, but the thought is not unpleasant. The air has changed already; the wind tickles the hair on his legs.

“Get some lunch.”

“I don’t mean today.”

Dick tries to parse Nix’s expression. With the sunglasses back on, it’s not an easy task. “I’ll get back to work, I guess.”

“I mean after _after_. When the war’s over. Can’t imagine there’ll be many ships to salvage then.”

“Ah.” Dick shrugs. “I guess I’ll find myself another job.”

“Back to Lancaster?”

Dick lets out a bitter chuckle at the proposition. “No,” he says, but he doesn’t elaborate.

Nix leans over the armrest, tilts his head Dick’s way. The smile is back on, and so is the fuzziness in Dick’s chest.

“What do you think of the oil business?”

_Then_

On Sunday morning, headquarters got a new salvage request, and by lunchtime they had both the crew and the repair team assembled. D’Angiolo came personally to smoke Dick out at the local Lutheran church.

Once they were done with preparations and ready to take off, Dick headed off to the captain’s cabin to report, but they ended up meeting halfway.

“Put it off for another half hour, will you?” the captain said good-humoredly.

“What’s the snag?” D’Angiolo asked when Dick relayed the order, pulling the headset down around his neck.

Dick shook his head. “He didn’t say.”

“Captain’s got a guest,” Beaver mumbled without looking up from the spot of floor he was mopping. “Saw ’em go to his room a minute ago.”

“Mm?” Mizner asked distractedly from the wheel. “What kind of guest?”

“Dunno, sir. Some guy.” Beaver paused working, leaning his weight against the handle of the mop. “Smelled rich.”

“ _Smelled_ rich?” D’Angiolo repeated.

“I mean expensive. Cologne and stuff. Sir.”

“What the hell d’you know about cologne, Beav? It’s a lucky day when you remember to shower.”

“ _Ha_ ,” Mizner chuckled, “good one.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Beaver shook his head patiently at the usual ribbing and went back to work.

“Really, though,” Mizner continued, turning a full 180 degrees on his post to face the deckhand. “What’s this I hear about a rich guest visiting?”

Beaver shrugged.

“Why not?” D’Angiolo prodded him.

Mizner, who always said that he was about to leave the NSS but never did, opened his arms to symbolically encompass all of the _Warbler_. “This rust bucket? You need your tetanus shot before you get onboard.”

That raised a choir of outraged protests. “Come on now,” Beaver exclaimed, omitting the ‘sir’ in his protective impetus towards the old ship, at the same time as Dick warned their second mate softly but firmly with a single syllable: “Miz.”

Mizner shrugged his shoulders all the way up to his ears. “Just sayin’, it ain’t exactly the country club.”

“’Cause you eat pineapple salad day in and day out at the country club, don’t you, Miz?” D’Angiolo scoffed, turning back to check the radio equipment for the third time.

“Hey, I have my connections,” Mizner replied.

“Who, the older ladies who buy you drinks down at Sloppy Joe’s?”

“Hey, now, with that tone—”

“That’s enough, gentlemen,” Dick intervened, in a voice that didn’t leave room for further rebuttals, and that settled that.

Thirty minutes later, when the men were just about beginning to get too restless, Dick headed back to Barbetti’s cabin. The hatch was still closed, and he heard mixed male laughs from the other side before he knocked. Something about it made the hair on his arms stand at attention inside his shirt sleeves.

“Come in. Ah, that’s right,” Barbetti addressed him with a particularly jovial smile, helped by an unusual morning drink, “they’re losing their patience, aren’t they?”

“Ready when you are, sir,” Dick said noncommittally, eyes fixed on the back of the head of the man sitting across the captain’s table.

“Lewis, I’m afraid I’ve got to boot you out,” Barbetti said to the guest, standing up. “Duty calls.”

“Of course,” Nix said, and pushed himself up on his feet. He turned his head, gracing Dick with a tiny, fond smile veined with uncertainty, then focused back on the captain. “My treat next time, all right?”

“I’ll take you up on that. Mr. Winters, do you mind showing Mr. Nixon the way out? Terrible sense of direction. He could get lost in a bathtub.”

“So _this_ is the thanks I get for saving your ass time and again?”

Barbetti laughed and patted Nix’s shoulder fondly on his way out of the cabin. “Till next time.”

“Till then.”

They waited for the captain’s steps to be suitably far down the corridor before Nix spoke first.

“Well, hello.”

“What’re you doing here?” Dick asked.

“Saying hi to a friend. And I’m happy to see you.”

“You followed me to work?”

Nix had the decency to look a little awkward. “I wanted to come by the house, but I didn’t know if your roommate was back. Didn’t want to make it awkward.”

Dick hesitated, carefully considering Nix’s sheepish expression. “Your tanker left two days ago.”

“Yeah, she did,” Nix confirmed, but didn’t explain further.

Dick stepped aside, pointing at the corridor with his outstretched arm. “Exit’s that way.”

“Dick—”

“We’re ready to cast off.”

Nix sighed deeply. “Can’t you spare a minute?”

Dick shook his head, though he didn’t move. Nix looked sincere, but then again didn’t he always?

“Close the door. One minute,” Nix urged softly.

“You say your piece and then you go, all right?”

“All right.”

As soon as the hatch clicked shut, Nix took a step forward. “I’m sorry, okay? That I let you find out like that. I’m not proud of it.”

He paused there, waiting for Dick to say something, and Dick simply acknowledged it with a nod.

Nix scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “I don’t tell. And I don’t ask. Sometimes it comes up, but most men don’t care.”

“I’m not most men,” Dick replied coldly.

“Yeah,” Nix sighed, “I know that.”

In the silence, the sound of the chronometer ticking on the captain’s shelf seemed as loud as a cannon. Dick nodded again, to himself this time.

“It’s okay. I understand,” he said.

“Do you?” Nix asked.

“Yeah.” Dick hinted with his chin at the hatch. “Let’s go. I’ll walk you.”

Nix followed him sheepishly down the corridor. When they were out, at the top of the gangway that would lead Nix back to land, Nix turned around with a wistful expression and chewed on his bottom lip before speaking.

“It was going well, wasn’t it? We were having fun.”

Dick looked away.

“It was,” Nix pressed.

“Yes,” Dick conceded. “So what?”

“So I didn’t want to tell you, okay? But I was gonna leave, and then you started talking about meeting again, and it just—it didn’t feel right, making plans when you didn’t know. And if you’re wondering, yes, goddamnit, I wanna see you again.”

There was an awkward sincerity to Nix’s voice that came out of him rough and difficult. Dick had already figured that Nix wasn’t a man to pour his heart out, and it felt odd being the recipient of such an admission. And the way it made him feel, that was—

Good Lord, he barely knew the man.

“You’re still married,” he said quietly.

Nix’s face fell a little. “It’s complicated.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“But you want to.”

“I’ve wanted the wrong thing before.”

“This isn’t—”

“That’s for me to decide,” Dick replied, firmly.

Nix raised his arms in surrender. “Will you think about it? Not today. Tomorrow, or whenever. Just think about it.”

Dick wavered, but Nix continued, encouraged by Dick’s hesitation. “You can write to my office in Nixon. Nixxon Oil, double X. No need to look up the address, they know where it is.”

“Is this what you do?” Dick replied, almost choked by a toxic thought. “Give your office address to your— _friends_ , so she won’t know?”

To his credit, Nix took the blow without even flinching. “I don’t know, Dick. I’ve never done this before.”

Dick swallowed. His upbringing thrashed and screamed and rebelled against the idea, but at this point in his life, the lessons imparted by his dear mother didn’t always prove as useful a moral compass as they’d once been. He felt like he was on the verge of something, but damn if he knew if it was a good or a bad thing.

“I’ll think about it,” he finally said.

“And write?”

“Maybe. If I change my mind,” Dick stalled.

Nix nodded meekly. “All right. Look, I just wanna say—”

“You need to go,” Dick murmured, hearing footsteps approaching.

“I loved every second of it. Every fucking second.”

Nix extended his right hand, rigidly, like a businessman at the end of a meeting, or like a kid who’d been taught that that was the proper way to say goodbye.

Dick took it reflexively. Nix’s handshake was firm, solid, and warm. He had gripped Dick’s hand like that once, playfully, and then he’d pulled Dick into a breathtaking kiss. But it wasn’t going to happen again.

“Yeah,” Dick said with regret. “Me too.”

* * *

MR. RICHARD WINTERS

69 FRANCES ST

33040 KEYWEST FL

LEAVING TODAY WILL BE THERE WED MORNING.

STAY PUT TILL THEN YOU HEAR ME? WILL PHONE NSS

OFFICE WHEN IN MIAMI. WAIT FOR ME. SOON=

NIX=

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original characters in this chapter come from Tec's lovely [Some Sunny Day](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24121567) \-- where Dick is a tanker, but the other kind.


End file.
